The Other Side of Fate
by mysweetone
Summary: Canon/AU. One-Shot. 1924. Edith Crawley, successful author and independent woman, endures the public spotlight while keeping her personal secrets safe. At Waterstone's Piccadilly, however, a book signing promotion takes an unexpected turn as she and Tom spot a familiar stranger in the admiring crowd.


_A/N: A small EAST contribution..._

_I've used Waterstone's Piccadilly book store as a setting and changed it as necessary.__This is a scene that has played through my mind multiple times and I've finally put it to paper, so to speak—and I hope something like it happens in series 5…though I doubt it.__But I've tried to make it happen here.__I hope you enjoy and, if you have a moment, please do let me know what you think._

* * *

"We're still here, Sir."

The misty evening air hovered as clouds at the lamp posts lighting the city street—still bustling at the later hour. The clippety-clop of horse hooves passed, but were quickly drowned by the taxi cars and automobile engines crowding one another out, honking with gaiety and disappearing in the fog, or silently making their way to distant destinations.

Anthony Strallan's Rolls Royce, the 1924 model released just two months prior, sat across the street from Waterstone's Piccadilly. Concealed in the darkness of the back seat, the baronet peered into the windows and saw the crowd, the smear of colors through the brightly lit windows, heard the excited sounds carry out into the street as the door to the book establishment opened and closed in an odd, syncopated rhythm of joviality. Anthony felt the oncoming panic and distress as his eyes continued to stare, hypnotized, by the signage on the door:

_Featured author: Lady Edith Crawley…_

At those words, he'd ordered Stewart to stop the vehicle. The loyal valet obeyed—and now, nearly a quarter hour later with no further words passing between them, Stewart sat listening to the faltering breaths of his master.

"Sir? Perhaps you'd like to go in?"

"No—no. I couldn't possibly…it's her…celebration, it seems."

"Yes, Sir. And…perhaps you could—"

"Stewart, I'm the last person she'd like to see on a night such as this…we should just go…"

Seconds passed, however, and no actual request came. No formal order. No syllable commanding a departure. No swift exit. Stewart waited, as he'd done for years, for his master's utterance. Nothing. Not a word came. Yet…amidst the anxious and despairing emotions, knowledge of a last chance to glimpse her weighed heavily, and Anthony's despairing eyes were unable to be tempted to a sight other than that of her painted name…just across the street in the lights…

* * *

Edith smiled and signed the book, her hand beginning to cramp from the effort. The praises from those present still surprised her and she accepted the compliments gracefully as she took each copy of her tome and cast her name on the title page in velvet black ink. Until her pen ran out.

"Tom? Another, please?"

Tom Branson handed another pen from his shirt pocket to his sister-in-law, his Irish grin and blue eyes full of mirth. "I bet you never expected this."

Edith's smile widened in response to the admirer requesting her autograph; she listened politely to the customer's regaling of a story and responded in kind before sipping her water and turning back to Tom. "No, I didn't expect any of this—certainly not this wonderful reaction." A beat and another of her books was placed in front of her. She looked up from where she sat and, again, smiled. "Well, hello—yes—"

The couple before her nodded, the female quite nervous and clearly pleased, began speaking quickly, "Lady Edith, I very much enjoyed your columns—"

* * *

The night grew later, the crowd less dense inside the store with each passing minute.

"Stewart, we should go—"

"You wish to return to your town home, Sir?"

"No…it's just…" All of the reasons why echoed. Stewart knew them already. Anthony clenched his fist, relaxed again, the nerves bringing repetitive movements that Stewart knew without looking back at the gentleman.

"Sir…"

"You should just…"

"May I speak freely, Sir?"

Anthony inhaled deeply and stared away from the lit windows of the book store and into the night ahead of him…the darkness pierced only by a distant, single gleam of light…

"If there was something you ever wanted to say to her, Sir, given tonight's event…that you could…well, just a…show of support…perhaps…"

"A more appropriate…farewell, you mean?" Anthony's voice broke.

"I mean closure, Sir…or perhaps even—"

Stewart never turned around, only smiled as he heard the door open and close again behind him, and he saw Sir Anthony Strallan step into the night and make his way through the traffic across the street and into the lights of Waterstone's…

* * *

"Almost there," Tom whispered in Edith's ear as she signed another of her books.

Edith maintained the joyful expression and air of a woman of success, all the while keeping an eye on the clock. The evening had gone well, and the book's reception overall far outshone her wildest dreams, but lingering in her mind and motivating her to finish sooner than later on this grand evening was the possibility of an early visit with the Drewes the following morning before having to return to Downton. Tom Branson knew Edith's secret, knew well enough what her plans might be and—like Edith—smiled politely and hurried folks along with nodding cues and waves to signal the notion of carrying on…of the next book, the next signature, and the next hastened steps and admiring anecdotes…

The crowd thinned as Tom observed the line moving along and then he looked again, glanced to Edith, anxious and with no idea how to react.

Edith felt the change before Tom saw it—or rather _him_. Edith's smile evaporated as a certain, inexplicable feeling claimed her. She looked up, searching beyond the crowd, knowing...

Standing in the very back, his hat removed and tucked under his arm, the blond hair astray, and his blue eyes on her—was Anthony Strallan.

A moment of locked eyes, a meeting of years past. So much of what both yearned to say in anger and pain and love—and all of it blocked by the time that couldn't be undone, by the loitering crowd between them, by the words that couldn't be said here or perhaps anywhere. A slight wince and attempted smile and then he was gone again.

"Where did he—"

"Edith—"

Edith was already standing, the pen abandoned at the small desk, her eyes glistening from the shock and the moment itself. "Tom, I need to go—"

Without hesitation, Tom began clearing the way, offering apologies and, as courteously as possible, moving the crowd aside. The clerk of Waterstone's followed, hissing confused questions and protests, but he was quickly diverted into the waiting customers' inquiries and disappeared—at least as much as Edith was concerned. Something drove her and she was oblivious to all else. They reached the door and Tom opened it for her, watched her hurry into the night towards the gentleman.

Anthony was at his car and Edith saw Stewart at the wheel, the engine ignited and ready to depart.

"Anthony! Anthony!"

Edith rushed across the street. He stood in front of her then, within arm's reach for the first time in nearly four years. He removed his hat once more and bowed slightly. "Lady Edith."

"I saw you…what are you…" Her eyes studied him in the shadows. Later, Edith still couldn't name exactly what happened in those seconds, what provoked the invitation, but she would merely smile at the memory—a long ago light gleaming again in her eyes and explain that it was simply meant to be…

Anthony waited, tried to bury the intense hope that always managed to surface in her presence.

Edith discreetly brushed away a pooling tear, blinked back the darkness once more, and, for that same unknowable reason, smiled up at him. "It's late…"

"Yes, I'm afraid, it's very late," Anthony agreed. The tone hinted of something more than the hour.

"I don't know your plans—" Edith began, glanced back across the street to where Tom stood just inside the door. She looked up to him again. "Perhaps…when I finish—it will be short, really—would you like to…together…would you like to get a cup of something?"

Anthony fidgeted, shifted his weight, and looked just inside the car to Stewart; the valet ignored him, a nonchalant approval at whatever Anthony wished to do provided he gained the courage to say yes…

"Tea or…coffee…or…"

"Wine or champagne?" Anthony offered, unable to help himself. "After all, it's a bit of a…celebration for you, yes?"

Edith turned again to the book store, to the crowd being held at bay by Tom's grin and patient appeasement. "Yes. Yes, it is, actually…" Edith said. She turned back to him, assessed his gaunt appearance and return to her life in this surreal manner. "So…you'll wait?"

Stewart audibly cleared his throat and coughed from inside the Rolls Royce. Anthony smiled, embarrassed slightly, and his eyes fell. "Yes, yes, we'll wait. Inside or—"

"Yes, please do come inside," Edith insisted, reaching for his arm. She rather easily linked her arm with his and coaxed him back with her. "I hear there's a rather intriguing book that's just been released—" she teased.

Anthony laughed, but as they reached the door and stood outside before going in, he became quite serious. "It's the author, actually, that I find intriguing—and unforgettable—and lovely."

"She's here as well," Edith whispered. "You have the opportunity to meet her, in fact."

"I'm not sure she's…all that interested in meeting me, I'm afraid. You see, she gave me…a life I'd longed for…and I…well, foolishly threw it away…I wanted more for her than just…me."

Tom Branson opened the door for Edith and Anthony to walk inside, but Edith paused, leaned into Anthony and kissed his cheek.

"Come on then," Tom said, blushing at having witnessed the intimacy, but quickly ushering them both inside.

Edith took Anthony's hand as they entered and stood by a shelf of the latest bestsellers. "You'll wait for me?"

Anthony knew the nature of the question, the truths it sought and he felt them as he whispered, "Yes, sweet one, I'll wait right here..."


End file.
